containmentbreachfandomcom-20200223-history
Talk:SCP Role Playing/The Breach/Part 3
Please remember to visit this page before coming here, but here are the important facts: * You must be serious and have a good idea of how proper role-playing works. * This RP session will end once the breach is over. * You must have good grammar. * Do not kill off other people's characters without talking it out first. * Do not double post. * Do not use SCPs from the SCP:CB Game unless you are very confident that you can introduce it. * All posts should be taken into account. * Avoid being absent for more than a week. * Remember to copy and paste this at the end of every one of your posts. --~~~~ ---- It might be in your best interest to use the "Expand Content" button on the user toolbar at the bottom of your screen to read posts easier. ---- Dr. Lavrov watched as Gale pulled out his pistol, leaving the office and waiting for Lander to come down. What a crushing fate for Lander to be infected by 008, even more so that Gale be the one to put him out of that misery. Wilson and the doctor stood uneasily in the office in anticipation for something to break the uncomfortable silence. A crack of the pistol was heard. Wilson and Lavrov turned to each other, knowing what had happened. Leaving the room into the corridor, they saw as Gale stood like a statue, towering over the collapsed soldier. Wilson and Lavrov looked down at Lander's body. A pool of blood was growing under him, his mouth smeared with blood. He had likely fed already on someone else. Lavrov sighed. He looked to Wilson, who was still glaring down at the corpse. Lavrov was cold, and right now his concerns weren't entirely on Lander's death, no matter how tragic the circumstances of it was. "Hey." Lavrov tapped Wilson's arm, catching his attention. "I need to ask this now, regardless of losing a soldier. How did you bring me back from the dead?" . . . A hole of hardly significance was being dug, Prankster's will undaunted. It might have seemed unimportant to the normal eye, but The Prankster was proud of his work. He was getting closer and closer from being free, even if this trying may take an hour or two. He will get out. And he will have retribution. --Tremor (talk) 20:05, August 2, 2013 (UTC) ---- Wilson stared at Lander's lifeless body, though strangley showing barely any remorse. He peered at it, until Lavrov tapped his shoulder and asked the question. Wilson sighed before he answered. 'Ok, after the P-Prankster got in the symbol, his body got possessed or something. The possessor c-called himself He-Who-Made-Light, and in return, he gave me threee wishes. I asked for a the g-gun...' he explained, gesturing towards the M16 on the table. 'Um....something else, but it was rejected' he said embarassingly. 'And for you to be resurrected'. After I then asked him to kill the Prankster, he said no and just left.' --Fireworks888 (talk) 20:14, August 2, 2013 (UTC) ---- "BASIL!" He instinctively ran into the blast room as Basil emblazed body flew towards the fuel line. Soon, explosions occured while he closed the door and hid in the blast room. "Let us take over your body. We can help. Just embrace the darkness and we can save you." "SHUT IT ALREADY!" "You know you can't do anything while everthing around you burn. Let us help. We can take to where you cease the burning. Embrace the darkness. EMBRACE IT!" "NO!" "YES!" Suddenly he felt a huge pain in his abdomen and his vision turn black. He lost all control of body. All he can see is blackness. And he felt hopeless to do anything. He couldn't even speak. Everthing is black, and he has been thrown into the darkness against his will. --Baton Guy (talk) 20:39, August 2, 2013 (UTC) ---- Gale lowered the gun and slowly, it slipped from his fingers and dropped. The clink of metal against floor was loud. He stood there and a silent whisper was heard. He then grabbed the body, put it on his back, and simply walked away from the group into the darkness of the corridors. As he continued on, he looked up to the bloody face of Lander, and the sadistic smile returned on Gale's lips. "Don't forget to wake up, Lander, I'll need you soon." He lifted a hand and placed it on Lander's head. A flap of skin was hanging, and he put it back. Now, he just needed someone to remove the stray bullet, and he would be fine, right? Right? "Right." --Ltn Vasquez, officially Technical Sergeant Jeffrey [REDACTED] (talk) 04:45, August 3, 2013 (UTC) ---- Lavrov pondered for a moment. He-Who-Made-Light; who was he? What was he? But most importantly, why does he care about some scared-pissed guard? Lavrov stared off into space, running through what possible connection that a trickster god would have with such a being. He couldn't find those answers on Earthly ideals, he knew, he needed to look to the cosmos. And he had an idea as to what may know that connection. Lavrov started off, not minding as Gale picked Lander's body up and piggy-backed it. There were more people at stake than just Gale and his mental stability. He strutted off, leaving Wilson to handle the situation. The halls were empty and muggy. There was the occasional growl, likely from a distant 008-1. Sometimes doors were ripped off their hinges, others looked like they were smashed through. Sometimes he'd see the remains of personnel; dangling from the wall was the former upper-torso of Dr. Fredrick, in Sector-B3 laid the ashes of some unfortunate soul, and in pieces was that of a charred Dr. Zhou. Lavrov came across a tattered and rather melted guard. His eyes were liquid resting at the bottom of his skull, his face skinless and seemingly aged as if maggots had already feasted it on the flesh, his chest ripped from the inside. Breaking the hand holding the rifle, Lavrov inspected it. It was... functional, strangely, grenade launcher and all. Either way, Lavrov made the best of what he could. Looking up, the sign read "SECTOR-L". Lavrov opened the double-door, entering a long narrow chrome corridor, at the end was another pair of doors. Pushing through the doors revealed a horrifying sight. A giant, insect-like beast screeched as Lavrov entered, surrounded by dead and ripped bodies of MTFs. It had six or seven limbs, a plethora of eyes, and twin pinchers. It towered over everything, at least ten feet tall in height. Like a hurricane, the monster ran toward the doctor. Lavrov knew exactly what it was. It was SCP-363. --Tremor (talk) 05:41, August 3, 2013 (UTC) ---- A bright light had woken Lander up from his slumber. His eyes slowly opened as they adjusted to the light. Ugh.....what the hell....I feel like I just got hit by a car or got shot in the face and.....wait... That's when all of the memories came flooding back to Lander's mind. The breach, him getting infected with 008, the red figure speaking to him and controlling his body, him releasing 1049, and him being shot by Gale. Wait, if Gale shot me, then where the fuck am I? Lander took this time to look at his surroundings. He appeared to have been sitting on a bench that was facing a large open ended lake. The sky had a rather......greyish tone to it, it was nothing like he had ever seen before. Jesus, this place looks like it was hit by some sort of color bomb, kinda reminds me of SCP-890-'' "Oh believe me, it was not that SCP, though that's not to say that that SCP will not return in the future." Lander turned his head and realized that there was a man sitting beside him. He had a briefcase on his lap and was dressed in a rather old looking suit. His face was very pale and he didn't even turn to face Lander, he simply stared at the vast lake in front of them. ''Oh no....no way, it can't be! "Why exactly can't it be? After all, this is a dream. Anything can happen." --Dr.Mark, your lord and saviour. (talk) 06:51, August 3, 2013 (UTC) ---- The sudden intense bursts of flame engulfed Basil. The heat was unbearable, and he could feel his skin cracking and peeling, his hair singed. Eventually, Basil was completely unrecognizable. His entire body had been charred. He looked like a marshmallow left roasting in the fire for way too long. As soon as the last of the blasts had ceased, Basil stood up, with some difficulty. "What was I thinking?" He thought. "What part of me could possibly believe that splashing coffee on it was a good idea?" He looked down at his hand. "How is it that my cup hasn't been destroyed?" Then another thought hit him. "How is it that I'm still alive?" Basil fruitlessly pondered this for a half-second, but he then realized that 457 had just split in two. Fortunately for Basil, they were fighting, and didn't take notice of him. Thinking reasonably for once, Basil entered the hole in the wall. He didn't see Baton freaking out in the blast room, as he was looking for something else. "There we go.", He said upon finding the control panel. He proceeded to turn on as many sprinklers as possible, then checked back outside. Most of the fires had been put out, but the 457 instances were still there. One pounded on a pipe that was carrying water. It burst open, drenching the thing, and extinguishing it in the process. The other had taken notice of Basil, and began dragging its weakened form towards him. Basil smirked, then removed a miraculously intact cigar from his pocket. When the shapeless ball of fire finally got close to Basil, he simply lit his cigar with it and watched it slowly get smaller. He had a small puff, then threw the cigar in the containment chamber. He enabled the gas, but just enough so that 457 wouldn't burn out, allowing it to become a small flame that flickered towards Basil regardless of where he stood. He locked the containment chamber down as tight as it would allow, and then noticed Baton. He let him out of the blast shield. "Baton! It's me, Basil! Are you alright?" --Phantasmagorian (talk) 07:09, August 4, 2013 (UTC) ---- "The darkness is your ally. The darkness is your savior. We have become a part of you, and you have become a part of us. At long last, the darkness has a chance to rise. And you're going be the one to deliver it to the world." He was hopeless to do anything. All he could to do was listen to the voice whisper into his ear. " Baton, Allow the darkness to guide and help you in your great journey. Call to the darkness and summon great powers beyond belief when in a bind. Don't worry, you'll see that embracing the darkness is a great thing to behold. Now I release from your chains. Go. Go and make your first step on the world as the Bringer of Darkness. Bring the world to it's knees. MAY THE DARKNESS DWELVE IN YOUR HEART!" Suddenly he was able to see and move. He regained control of his body and saw in front of him of charred figure. "Baton! It's me, Basil! Are you alright?", said the charred figure. "Basil? How are you still alive?" He still felt weird. Him being in the darkness took out most of his energy. He looked at his body. Both his hand was covered in black vines markings. Like a tattoo of some sort. "Markings of the darkness. They're put onto your entire body to symbolize you becoming one with the darkness." "Second of all, I think need to lie down somewhere and examine my body." --Baton Guy (talk) 08:04, August 4, 2013 (UTC) ---- The giant not-centipede swung at Lavrov, missing each time. Lavrov aimed for the head, unloading a couple of rounds before the creature just became more furious. Running with its many legs, it picked Lavrov off the ground and tossed him against the metal-enforced walls. His spine certainly hurt but nothing major. He was aware what the creature was trying to do now; make it's prey softer and weaker for easier digestion. Stepping over the dead and torn bodies quickly, Lavrov jumped into one of the very few doors in the hallway. It looked like a rather large engine room and the engine was still running on some sort of alternate power storage. Lavrov glanced around, hearing the SCP-363 screeching behind him. On the side of the room were a couple of large crates, which he assumed he could hide behind. As Lavrov dove to the cover of the wooden crates, SCP-363 slipped through the door, widening the entrance. It stalked around, prowling, looking for its prey. Lavrov held his breath, breathing quietly through his nostrils. He waited for the right moment, the monstrosity tearing apart other items in the room in order to find its snack. Loud clanks and crashes were made as in effort to find Lavrov. The doctor peered over the edge of the crates, his head barely visible to the monster. It was heading toward the pile of boxes that veiled Lavrov, though it was looking in another direction. Gun readied, Lavrov stepped out into the beast's view. The not-centipede didn't have much time to react as Lavrov unloaded what was left of the magazine into the creature's stomach, leaving a wide gap in it's lower body. Like a tiger angered, the SCP-363 skittered toward Lavrov in a fury. Lavrov was lucky he only got a nasty scratch mark on his arm when the damn thing barreled toward him, because he ended the creature's run with a shot of the attached grenade launcher. Now, Lavrov wasn't really a soldier boy and only had minimal training with a rifle, but he knew how to aim enough. And he made sure that the explosive lodged itself into the large open wound. Ducking the monster's left swing, he bailed out of room through the ripped doorway, the beast at his heels until suddenly the grenade exploded in its innards. There was a loud splat and the not-centipede kneel over in pain, causing the body to split. Lavrov went to look at his work. This SCP-363 instance had quite resistant armor. Thankfully the men before Lavrov damaged the shell sufficiently enough for him to crack it wide open and destroy from the inside. He tossed the gun aside, knowing that using only the grenade launcher was not an accurate means of attack. He was left defenseless once again. He walked down the hallways of Sector-L, leaving behind the bloodied mess of the not-centipede's work behind. He wasn't around to notice when the "corpse" of the SCP-363 beginning to self-mutate, growing extra limbs where its body had been blown off, healing from it wounds, it began to resize. It picked up on Lavrov's scent, beginning to move and prepared to attack. And it was after blood this time, not food. --Tremor (talk) 19:10, August 4, 2013 (UTC) ---- Wilson was alone in the offices. Lander is dead, Gale is mentally unstable, and Lavrov is god knows where. The aching pain of his broken body was unbearable and he knew it would be a while until it wore off. He need medical attention. Seeing how the Heavy Containment's medical wing barely had any supplies, the wounded guard hoped the Light Containment's would be a different story. He stepped out of the frame of the office door and limped his way towards the nearest trolley to the LC Section. --Fireworks888 (talk) 01:35, August 5, 2013 (UTC) ---- "But...don't you only appear in dreams?" "Perhaps." The man still hadn't turned to face lander. Huh, I guess the bullet didn't kill me then. Lander then went back to staring at the vast lake. "Listen David, I need something of you.....may I call you David?" "David....I haven't been called that in a long time." "Indeed you haven't. Tell me, how are you coping with your lost?" "Can we not bring that up now? You said you had something that you needed from me." "Yes I do. You see, the breach that you are currently in was not caused by technical malfunctions." "It wasn't?" "No, it was caused by a group that wants to reclaim something of there's." Lander then turned to look at the man. "Reclaim something? What might that something be?" "Why, SCP-882 David." --Dr.Mark, your lord and saviour. (talk) 06:37, August 5, 2013 (UTC) ---- After what felt like hours, Wilson finally arrived at a damaged trolley. It's left wall was completely ripped to shreds, it had several scratches and gunshot holes on it, and the control box was blood covered, yet still functional. He flipped the switch, set the location, and got settled into the trolley. It moved slowly, but it would get Wilson to his destination way faster than he could on his own. Wilson shut his eyes, promising himself that it is only eye rest, though, he very quickly feel to slumber. He woke up with a startle. He couldn't have been asleep more than a few minutes, though the trolley wasn't moving, as it seemingly busted down midway when Wilson was asleep. He peeked his head out of the trolley's opening, seeing how he was by the D cells. 'Ok, I'm only a few hallways from Light Containment. Looks like I'm walking.' he thought as he jumped off the dysfunctional trolley, leaving belt of rounds behind and hurried his way towards the LC's hospital. After about 10 minutes of limping, the growls finally stopped, as he wasn't near the 008 victims, yet as he turned a corner, an....orb of flesh jumped out at Wilson, sending him flying back. 'OH MY GOD!' he exclaimed. A blob of pure tissue 'stood' in front of Wilson. It had black, beady eyes and tearings of orange cloth scattered around it's so called body. The tearings said in thick black letters 'D-999-' until it was cut off. It was a 427-1 who was originally a D class. He pulled his M16 out of his torn pack and unloaded a mag on the flesh beast. If it was doing damage, it sure didn't display, as the steaming bullets simply stabbed into the creature and sunk into it's flabs of flesh. He reached for another round, but only felt one. 'Shit, I left the rest back at the trolley.' he swore in his thoughts. His attack enraged the flesh monster more than it's usual hostility was and it dashed towards Wilson. He ran from the beast as it quickly slithered towards him. --Fireworks888 (talk) 07:12, August 5, 2013 (UTC) ---- "Um. Sure.. You do that." Before sheepishly looking away, Basil noticed that Baton had several dark markings on Batons hands. "You finished yet?" He asked. "Erm, yeah." "We should get going" They walked out of the room and into the hallway. --Phantasmagorian (talk) 05:15, August 6, 2013 (UTC) ---- The creature slithered closer and closer to a limping Wilson. Suddenly, the beast had an idea its used in the past. It used the bullets it absorbed from Wilson's attack and flung them back at him. One stray hit directly in the back of Wilson's knee, the knee on his good leg. This instantly caused Wilson to trip and fall over. The pain was multiplied, as Wilson was practically crippled from the waist down. He rolled on his back and saw how the deformed D class was only a few meters away from him, getting closer and closer every second. Wilson crawled backwards and remembered, his M16 had a grenade launcher. He grabbed his trusty M16, aimed it directly at the damned creature and fired the launcher, sending a large grenade right into the creature's eye. It immediately exploded on impact, halfly blinding the D class, sending it dashing back and sloshy pieces of it's black eye to paint the walls around it. Yet, this did not in the least bit help, as it only gave Wilson a few more seconds to retreat, but it also enraged the creature even more. He explosion reminded him of something. Fire. He remembered how extreme heat could quickly disable a flesh beast, giving Wilson a searing idea. --Fireworks888 (talk) 05:34, August 6, 2013 (UTC) ---- Despite the pain in his head, a map formed in his head based on his memory. Yet, it had abated, leaving only the static noise in his head the soft click of boots. He'd passed by many containment chambers and 008 instances, but he never noticed one. Despite having shot his friend, he knew that he had purposely aimed higher than he should have. He still believed in him, that's why he didn't shoot him. When he reached the elevator to Gate A, in the darkness of the room, he heard Lander mumble in his unconsciousness. He smiled again, he hoped for Lander to wake up, perhaps they can walk out of this. Upon the elevator opening to Gate A, he found that up ahead, MTF were swarming. The noise was loud, so he stood in the elevator and watched those insects swarm around. How strange they were, perhaps they should leave? --Ltn Vasquez, officially Technical Sergeant Jeffrey [REDACTED] (talk) 18:29, August 6, 2013 (UTC) ---- The chamber doors cracked open as Lavrov inserted the Level 3 keycard (which he looted off a corpse) into the slot. He didn't hear as the angry SCP-363 made it's way silently across the ceiling, getting right above Lavrov's position. Slipping the card into his pocket, Lavrov paused before stepping in. He felt as if something wasn't right; that's when the not-centipede pounced on him. The landing cracked the back of his ribs and minorly damaged his spine. The foul-hearted beast moved off the researcher, letting a vicious roar, its breath watering Lavrov's eyes. Lavrov wasn't sure how but the thing had survived: same number of eyes and arms, but a different number of legs. It had also shrunk in size. Swinging its arm up, the monster attempted to strike the doctor. Lavrov rolled quickly, evading the beast's fatal attack. He may not have had the gun anymore, but he still had one more line of defense. Lavrov backed up as fast as he could, though the not-centipede was far faster. Pulling the lollipop of his pocket, the monster leaned in closer, fangs primed to strike. With a quick unwrapping of the paper, Lavrov threw the treat as hard as he could to the ground below the sprinting creature. Suddenly, a sound of moving glaciers was heard as the sucrose expanded and encased the SCP-363 instance. The insect was suddenly inside the sweet sugary ice-like trap. He looked dark now, like chocolate, as expected. The crystal was red, which made sense as the lollipop he threw was cherry flavored. Dusting his shirt off, he continued back to the chamber. -- Finally, he had dug long enough. He found the water pipe, a slight trickle where it had been bolted. "(Bingo)" thought the Prankster. He was almost out, just a little longer and he's be free. He remembered how low it was of Light-boy to take over his body, which is saying a lot considering their long relationship. No one makes a tool of The Prankster, and he'll make sure Light knows that. -- The label read "SCP-738, Classification: Keter". Lavrov looked on at the three different metal doors, each holding a piece of SCP-738. Opening all three, he dragged the two chairs to their respected places to the mahogany desk in the middle room. As Lavrov sat, a man with dark hair and yellow eyes appeared in front of him. He appeared to be his early twenties, wearing a black business suit with red tie, and had a gushing white grin on his face. "You and I need to make a deal." said Lavrov, stern and stiff. --Tremor (talk) 20:18, August 6, 2013 (UTC) ---- What he saw back there frighten him. The markings were all over his body, not just his hands. Gladly, it wasn't on his face. But he pondered on what the voice had said. "Call to the darkness and summon great powers beyond belief when in a bind." What did the voice mean? Does he some kind of superpower now or something? He didn't care. He wasn't going to let the darkness have his way with him. All that mattered to him was 053. And he be damned if anything happens to her. In fact, where is she now? Hopefully she still in her containment room. "Do not worry. She will be fine. We will not harm her nor let her harmed. The darkness accepts all that you love." "I'm not letting her become what I am" , he said in his head. "Fine then." "Good.", he said in his head. "So Basil, where are we heading now? And you still haven't answered my question about how you survived that explosion." --Baton Guy (talk) 20:43, August 6, 2013 (UTC) ---- Wilson's dark blood flowed out from under his leg from the bullet wound. Now, only relying on his upper body strength, he ripped off his balaclava and wrapped it around his knee to stop the bleeding, exposing him to only his pale,sweating face. He crawled, using only his arms, down the hallway. He crawled near another elevator shaft without a door. It's supports seemingly broke as well, as when he looked down, there was nothing that a crushed, broken down elevator. He rolled off into the shaft and fell through the top door of the elevator. He landed inside it on his shoulder. CRACK! His shoulder broke his fall, but the force dislocated it. Screaming out in pain, Wilson looked up to see the flesh beast falling right towards him. He used his only strong limb to quickly crawl out of the elevator. He heard a CRASH behind him, obviously the beast landing right behind him. This fucking thing is determined. However, this was all a part of Wilson's plan. He rolled his way from the beast and towards the a chamber, the incinerator chamber. --Fireworks888 (talk) 21:01, August 6, 2013 (UTC) ---- "Contracts are my line of work, so I suppose I can abide to your request." the Dealer said in a cheery voice. "Before we get to this contract, however, I have some questions which of course I'm going to assume you know. Is there a price on knowledge in your 'work'?" asked Lavrov. "All depends on what we're asking now." The Dealer chuckled. "What is the connection between the entity who refers itself as 'The Prankster' and a being who calls itself 'He-Who-Made-Light'?" The Dealer straightened his tie in discomfort. "The boss-man has such information under a strict need-to-know-basis. This, uh" The Dealer cleared his throat. "Ahem, why do you ask?" "Because The Prankster isn't dead. I've only trapped him." The Dealer shifted his eyes left to right, talking through his teeth. "What do you mean you trapped The Prankster...?" "I mean I trapped him. Are you trying to pull something over on me?" The Dealer pushed his seat back for a moment. "Uh, e-excuse me for a moment; this usually isn't part of the agreement but, um, I need to check something." With a turn, the Man was gone. Lavrov was a bit bewildered; this isn't part of the entity's behavior. Its acting of weariness was something not seen before. Enter the Dealer, standing in front of what would look like to anyone else a normal glacier. But there was something special about this giant mountain of ice; the water it froze was purified, keeping and taming what was locked inside. Phasing into the ice burned the Dealer's skin a great bit, but this was required due to the inquires Lavrov had offered. He went further and further in. Reaching the center of blizzard behemoth was the stilled body of what a human would think of as a jester. The Dealer reappeared in his seat. He had a stern look on his face. "I am afraid I must deny your request for knowledge. The Prankster is currently suspended in a giant glacier in Antarctica, ergo your claims of him being in this facility is wrong." "Th-That's impossible! I saw him! I trapped him using the Lucifer Sigil! I--" Lavrov was cut off. "How the Hell do you know about the Lucifer Sigil!?" the Dealer leaned in closer. "I learned it from a source you could say." responded Lavrov. "Now, tell me: how can two Pranksters exist at once?" Once again, the Dealer pushed his chair. "Excuse me for another moment, please. I need to speak with my superiors about this... development." The Dealer knew that a low-level scientist with knowledge about the Lucifer Sigil is big fish. He needed to know what exactly was going on. Again, with a turn, he was gone. Lavrov remained seated in his chair, just like the last time. He waited for a few minutes, tapping his seat in the boredom and anticipation. When the Dealer reappeared, his expression told the story of someone with clarity. "After some negotiation with our CEO, we've concluded your claims are indeed true. However I am afraid we cannot help you with this issue." "And why not?" asked the curious doctor. "Because it is against employee policy to deal with temporal rifts and time-travelling affairs." -- With a snap of the pipe, water sprayed the intersection where the symbol was. The salt washed away, and that was all that it would need to break the seal. Prankster was free once, raising his limped body. Grabbing the silver pole and pulling it from his chest, he superheated it in his hand, watching as the metal oozed onto the floor. After that, he ascended far above the facility, looking down upon the chaos: a giant lizard there, a freak of nature here, the same ol' jig. Priorities were priorities, however, and Prankster had no time for watching the slaughter of pathetic humans trying to contain what they can't understand. "You're first, Light-boy." --Tremor (talk) 02:00, August 7, 2013 (UTC) ---- He finally got the chamber, even though he felt like he's rolled in a bed of spikes. He leaned his back up against the wall and aimed his launcher above a pursuing mutant. He fired his second grenade right at the support beam over the 427-1. It exploded in a collection of heat, completely shattering the supports, leaving the beast to have a hurricane of debris falling towards it. It made a wall of the use-to-be ceiling between and angered beast and a wounded guard. Wilson crawled up into the control room that operated the chamber. He turned the heat on high, sending a blaze of heat into the room. The beast broke down the wall of debris with an explosion of pure force. 'Oh, s-shit.' Wilson swore at the sight of an angry monster sprinting right towards him with no where to run. It jumped up towards the sky like a majestic crane, but burrowed down through the air towards Wilson like a torpedo. It slammed into him, causing them both to fly back through the window leading into the chamber. With this thing wrapped around Wilson's front, Wilson crashed onto the ground of the chamber. The heat of the chamber's floors seared his back and quickly burned right through his bodysuit. It stung like he was in a furnace, yet he actually was. The beast, suffocating Wilson felt the stingingly hot waves clash up against it's 'body'. It quickly hopped off Wilson and started to squirm in pain from the heat, making odd groans and growls. It quickly set ablaze. The creature slithered around the room, helpless trapped in a microwave while on fire. Wilson's exposed skin went to snow white to a nearly black tan in seconds. He rolled over on his stomach and started to crawl towards the chamber doors. The vents producing heat felt like several jabs to his stomach with hot railroad spikes. Finally he reached the door. He used the handle on the control panel to elevate himself up. He slammed his fist into the first button, opening the door. He pushed himself off the wall towards the opened door and crawled his way out. Nearly his entire vest was scorched off, exposing his crisped torso. A smoking hot cut was slashed up against his cheek. He leaned up against the wall as he pressed the button to close it so the searing hot waves of pure heat couldn't spread anywhere else. The last thing he heard out of that room was a screech from that very creature he just set inflamed. Wilson sat up against the wall, broken and cooked. He puked up into his lap as he got settled into his seat up against the chamber door. He couldn't walk. He couldn't move his arms. He could barely speak. He simply sat against the door, closed his eyes, and passed out against, leaving himself there. --Fireworks888 (talk) 03:13, August 7, 2013 (UTC) ---- "Good question", Basil thought. "Wait, what if... no, that doesn't make sense." "I know as much as you do, Baton.", He replied. Basil hesitated. "We probably should make sure the others are safe. Let's head down to Light Containment. So, where are we, then? I was in a rush when I arrived..." Baton shifted uncomfortably. "Uh. I don't know" "You don't know? Why not?" --Phantasmagorian (talk) 07:52, August 7, 2013 (UTC) ----